


Not All Bad, Not Bad At All

by Mayhem



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Underage Relationship(s), M/M, Stubborn Stiles, Tender Peter Hale, money problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2184030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayhem/pseuds/Mayhem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles’ family is having money problems, and Peter has the solution to help…even if Stiles is rather adamant about not taking money from his boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not All Bad, Not Bad At All

**Author's Note:**

> Stiles is seventeen, but that's still underage so that warning applies.
> 
> Other than that? It's just pretty fluffy. Implied sex and a few touches at the end, but nothing too smutty. That's for a different fic. -grins;

Stiles notices everything.

People think he doesn’t, but he _definitely_ does. Especially when it has to do with his father, and especially when it’s his father that is looking more and more stressed as the days go by. It didn’t take long for him to dig into his desk - something he had done so often it was laughably easy to find the things his dad wanted to hide - and it didn’t take long for him to open up the bills that had been collecting there, the notices, the last warnings.

Apparently, being submitted into a crazy house where you were forced into a sedated sleep was an expensive endeavor, indeed.

And it wasn’t that Stiles completely _hated_ the idea of having a job; it was just that he couldn’t even _find_ one. No one was hiring in the once-sleepy town of Beacon Hills. At least, no one was hiring a seventeen-year-old boy with no prior experience.

How, exactly, was he supposed to get a job in the first place if he had to have experience before he was even hired for the most basic tasks?

_“We’ll be okay, Stiles. We will. I promise.”_

There were only so many times Stiles could handle his father straight-up lying to his face. It wasn’t that he thought his dad wasn’t trying, because he was the Sheriff for crying out loud, and shouldn’t that pay a little more money than it did? Didn’t he risk his life for the people of this town every day and most nights? It wasn’t right, or fair, but then, Stiles had learned a long time ago that life wasn’t fair. He had learned it when he had seen Scott’s eyes glow yellow for the first time. He had seen it when his best friend had risen through the ranks of popularity, and he had stubbornly remained the quirky best friend. Never getting the girl. Never getting first line on the field.

He didn’t mind, not really. Playing the Robin to Scott’s Batman was an okay job - he just wished it _paid._

“You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?”

It was the typical, bored tone he had grown accustomed to from his boyfriend’s lips. Though, okay, it was still really freakin’ weird to think of Peter Hale as his _boyfriend._ Not least of all because he was, well, _seventeen_ and Peter was…

“How old are you again?”

“Deflecting isn’t going to work, Stiles.”

He rolled his eyes and leaned back further into the couch, fervently wishing the cushions would just swallow him up right then and there. Being a piece of fluff in Peter’s couch would be easier than being a teenage boy - that much was certain.

“I don’t know why you can’t just let it go.”

“Because it’s pointless, Stiles.”

“Stop saying my name like that.”

It always made it a thousand times harder - no pun intended - to concentrate on the conversation at hand when Peter was half-growling, half-whispering his name in just that tone that he _knew_ sent heat straight through Stiles’ ears all the way down to his toes, because, yeah, Peter was scary as all hell when his eyes started glowing and his fangs came out, and, yeah, he had killed a lot of people in his life, but _really,_ was it even normal to be so freaking attractive? Stiles didn’t think so. It had to be some supernatural, wolfy thing. Yeah. Yeah, that was it.

Peter made some sort of huffing noise, maybe it was a snort, it was hard to discern the difference when Stiles was staring at the curious way his t-shirt clung to his shoulders, somehow drawing his eyes directly to Peter’s neck, and then it was only a short journey up to his lips, and it didn’t take much thought _at all_ to remember what those lips could do on his skin, and then his mind was on its own trip of nostalgia and arousal and, _damn,_ he was distracted again.

Peter was smirking.

“Don’t look so smug, either.”

“Well, my goodness, am I allowed to do anything, _Stiles?”_

He groaned and grabbed the nearest pillow, chucking it at Peter’s head, who, of course, caught it before it could come anywhere near his face.

“I agreed to date you, but I didn’t agree to all the…the...”

“The _what?”_

Stiles’ arms flailed briefly before he managed to pull the word out of the air. “The _sass.”_

“Yes, you did. The sass. The looks. The attitude. The red ledger. The _money.”_

Stiles visibly winced. “I said no, Peter. In fact, I think I said no about a thousand and one times at this point.”

Peter’s hands moved slowly as he placed the pillow back down on the couch before scooting closer, moving until their thighs touched, and Stiles could feel the warmth of his body. Safety. Home. Mate. Yes, it whispered all of those things to him, because Peter had _become_ all those things to him.

He knew no one else understood. Scott tried, bless him, but he still saw Peter as the Alpha that had turned him, the creepy uncle to the brooding wolf, and the murderer that had given them more trouble than he was worth. But hadn’t Peter been the one to help them when Stiles had been possessed? Maybe he had his own motives, but hadn’t he been there for them, anyway? Lydia - forget trying to explain _anything_ to her. There was no real logic in this, and she couldn’t wrap her head around it.

None of his friends _got it._ They just couldn’t.

But Stiles did. He saw the heart beneath the icy exterior. He saw the way Peter cared, in his own fucked-up way perhaps, for his family. Yeah, power-hungry and ambitious definitely described him, but he was more than that.

“I just don’t see the point in not taking advantage of all your resources.”

“They already all stare at me like I’m still in the throes of madness. Do you really think it would make this situation any easier if you start…paying off my bills?” Even just talking about it sent a flush of color into Stiles’ cheeks, darkening his freckles and tinting his ears pink. “You’re not my…my _sugar daddy_ for Christ’s sake.”

Peter had the decency to at least _try_ to look offended.

“I know I’m not your sugar daddy, Stiles, but the facts are the facts.” His ridiculously long fingers extended, counting off each point as he made it. “You’re having money troubles. Your dad isn’t able to keep up with the bills. You can’t get a job to save your life. You’re too young to take out a loan of any sort. Your dad has maxed out all of his credit cards.” He lifted up his other hand and pointed at himself with his index finger. “I have the funds to help you.”

Stiles’ insides squirmed in an uncomfortable way. It wasn’t that he wasn’t tempted. _Hell_ no. There had been times when he had wanted to ask Peter for a small loan of…oh, say…$25,000 to get a fancy, new jeep, but he wasn’t actually _entertaining_ the idea for real. There was no way.

“It shouldn’t be your job to take care of me, Peter. Not like that.”

Hands that he had once seen as only capable of hurting framed his shoulders with such gentility it made his heart ache.

“You just said it, Stiles. My job _is_ to take care of you. That means in every way.”

His cheeks heated more, and he hated that Peter was going to be able to so easily hear the way his heart skipped a beat. He swore it was swelling up with affection, because maybe he was never going to be the captain of the lacrosse team, and maybe he was never going to be popular, and maybe he was never going to be a straight-A student or have anyone look at him with eyes tinted green in jealousy, but he had Peter.

He had Peter.

\-----

Morning came slowly, lazily. The sun bringing with it the memories, aches, and bruises of the previous night. Stiles stretched luxuriously, arms way over his head, fingertips brushing the headboard, toes pointed towards the foot of the bed. Bones popped and muscles protested the movement, but he couldn’t deny the liquid-y feeling flowing languidly through his veins.

A soft grunt beside him indicated Peter’s wakefulness, as did the slight tightening of the arm around his midsection, the soft nuzzling of the nose into his neck. Stiles grinned sleepily, eyes still closed, and shifted around to press his back into Peter’s chest. The wolf’s warm breath moved the hairs on the back of his neck and sent shivers all through him.

“Morning.”

He laughed softly at the grumpy tone of Peter’s voice, finally letting his eyelids flutter open to look around the bedroom. Clothes were strewn all across the floor - evidence of their haste to get to their final destination of the night.

“Mm, sleep well?”

A low growl rumbled from behind him, and he felt the warm wetness of Peter’s tongue against the back of his neck. The pain, at this point, was expected. Bite marks littered his body, typically Peter would place them in strategically-hidden places so no one would know just what they were up to - well, besides the residents of Beacon Hills that could smell Peter all over him (Scott had told him more than once that he reeked of Peter Hale and Stiles was simultaneously offended and pleased by the notion of being scent-marked) - but it never failed: Peter would leave _one_ mark in plain view. Just one. It was infuriating, but endearing. Somehow all at the same time. Just like the way Peter would grin after the fact, knowing that Stiles could do nothing about it, while Stiles acknowledged that even if he _could_ do something about it, he probably wouldn’t.

Part of him, or, okay, maybe like… _all_ of him… thoroughly enjoyed being claimed so openly.

There was a shifting of body parts behind him, and suddenly Stiles felt Peter pressing harder against him. _Oh._ Harder, indeed.

“If that is going to be your only response to my question, I’m going to assume that yes, you _did_ sleep well. And if you argue, I’m going to have to -- ”

His words ended as his cell lit up bright blue in the dim, morning light. The message icon flashed once, the name ‘Dad’ popping up on the screen before it went dark. He sighed.

“I better check that.”

Peter only grunted again and began to make lewd movements behind Stiles’ body that were doing rather delicious things to his _own_ body, and by god, didn’t everyone know that teenagers woke up with morning wood anyway, and was it _really_ necessary for Peter’s hands to grip his hips so tightly this early?

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath as he finally disentangled himself enough to reach for his phone, but before he could grab it, it lit up again, this time vibrating more insistently as it rang. Frowning, Stiles fully extricated himself from Peter’s grasp - a challenging feat, and one that wouldn’t have been accomplished if Peter didn’t _want_ to let Stiles answer his phone, though Stiles suspected it wasn’t so much because Peter wanted him to answer it, but because Peter didn’t want to strain Stiles’ relationship with his dad.

Family-oriented and all that.

“Hello?”

_“Stiles.”_

Panic flared in his gut at his dad’s tone.

“Yeah, dad. What’s goin’ on?”

_“What happened to the account?”_

“What-what are you talking about?”

Oh, god. Were they out _more_ money? That wasn’t possible. Stiles didn’t have access to the account, and the only hacker he knew was Danny, and Danny wasn’t the type to take money. At least, from an already-struggling family. Would Danny steal money at all? Maybe there was a certain dangerousness in the glint of his soft eyes. No, what? He was getting off track.

_“There’s…well, shit, Stiles. There’s…a lot of money in it. I mean, a **lot.** ”_

Stiles froze, and he felt the bed move as Peter sat up behind him. He didn’t have to turn around to see the grin on his face. He could _feel_ it.

“That’s…weird.”

_“You think? I called the bank.”_ Of course, Sheriff Stilinski wouldn’t accept a sudden influx of cash without trying to figure it out. _“It’s a legitimate transfer, Stiles. Someone, somewhere, just…just gave us all this money. The bank said it was from a trusted source, but the giver wanted to remain anonymous.”_

“Well, d-dad, it sounds like a great thing, right?”

_“Things like this are always too good to be true. Didn’t I teach you that?”_

“Only every day of my life, but if the bank says -- ”

_“I know. I know. I’m just…do you know anything about this?”_

“Dad…really? Why would I know something?” There was silence on the other end of the line. “Okay, yeah, stupid question, but I don’t this time.” It was a lie, but he must have sold it, because his dad just sighed and made some comment about getting more coffee to handle this before hanging up the phone.

Stiles stared at his phone for a good minute, watching as his dad’s picture faded to black. Peter was still. Stiles was still.

There was an extremely uncharacteristic moment of silence between them.

“Why?”

“Because sometimes an outside perspective is what is needed to know the right choice in a given situation.”

Stiles scoffed. “Cut out the flowery semantics. I said no.”

“When has no ever stopped me?”

Stiles could actually think of several instances of ‘no’ being an immediate deterrent for Peter. Well, maybe not _deterrent,_ but it definitely put his brakes on long enough for him to realize that Stiles was, in fact, a virgin, and Stiles was, in fact, an impressionable teenage boy, and while Peter surely already knew all of these things, sometimes he had seemed to forget them when things were just taking off between them, and Stiles had to tell him to slow down, or go easy. Of course, that wasn’t at all how it happened anymore. Now it was all _more_ and _yes_ and _please_ and _oh god._

With a guttural sound of frustration, he turned, his phone landing somewhere on the bed to his left, to level a glare that had reached epic proportions of angsty teenager on the wolf. The blankets didn’t quite reach his hip bones, and Stiles had to forcibly remind himself to keep his eyes on Peter’s face, because god knew that if he looked down once, his entire argument would conveniently slip right out of his head.

“This wasn’t just some tiny, insignificant detail of my life, Peter. This wasn’t some jacket that you found _abhorrent,_ to quote you specifically, and threw out without my knowledge. You just…you can’t just _give_ me and my dad boat-loads of money after I tell you I don’t want it and then just pretend it’s okay! Or a joke! I mean you’re sitting there, with this _smirk_ on your face like you just heard a juicy secret, but that’s not how this is! This is… _dammit,_ Peter, this is serious! My dad is going to work tirelessly to figure out where that came from because he won’t be able to stand it, either! Do you think I can keep it from him?”

“Then tell him.”

Stiles froze in his tirade, which wasn’t fair, because he could go _forever_ when he got on a roll, but once his thoughts were interrupted it was almost impossible to get back on track.

“Tell him what.” It wasn’t a question so much as a holy-crap-are-you-serious-right-now-Peter-freaking-Hale statement. There were a lot of those types of statements in their relationship.

Peter rolled his eyes in only the way Peter could and sat up a bit more, the blankets falling just far enough down to reveal the beginnings of the dark curls Stiles was oh-so-fond of. Not that he was looking down there. At all. Ever.

“That I’m the one who gave you the money, obviously. Really, Stiles, sometimes you can be so obtuse.”

“Yes, because that will be a great conversation. ‘Hey, dad, by the way, all that money? Yeah, Peter Hale decided to just cough it up out of the goodness of his heart. Why, you ask? Because I put out for him on the _daily.’_ Yes, that will go over _really_ well.”

Stiles realized he had taken things a step too far when Peter’s smirk tightened. Not just in a way that meant he was losing sight of the humor in the situation, but in the way that said humor was _long gone,_ and Stiles had crossed _that line,_ and now Peter was _pissed._

“What did you say? You ‘put out’ for me? That’s how you see it? Like you’re my _prostitute?”_

Oh, boy. Yeah, Stiles had definitely taken it too far.

As usual.

Peter surged up from the bed - there was really no other way to describe the movement. One second he was mostly reclined, eyes still a bit sleepy-looking, and the next he was coming up out of the covers like a tidal wave and suddenly Stiles was on his back on the bed, and he had no real recollection of just how that had occurred, but Peter was _looming_ and bright blue eyes were staring down into his face and his teeth were sharper than human teeth and every muscle that pressed against Stiles’ body was strained and he could feel the tension - literally feel it like individual waves ebbing and flowing from Peter’s body, crashing against Stiles, steadily breaking away piece after piece of him.

“I’m not giving you the money in exchange for sexual favors, _Stiles._ ” Yup. That tone sealed it. Stiles was in deep shit. “I’m giving you the money, because you _need_ it, and because you’re too stubborn to take it from me yourself.” In sharp contrast to the rough way in which Peter’s body pressed him to the mattress, fingers tenderly stroked along Stiles’ cheek, threaded up through his hair. “You have so much potential, Stiles, and no one else can see it. Even without the bite, even without being supernatural - perhaps _because_ of your mortality, your humanity - you can do so many things.” Peter leaned in closer, and the danger was definitely still there, lurking in shadows behind the azure flashes in his eyes, but his words were a heated whisper against Stiles’ own lips, and the words themselves sent their own brand of electricity flickering through his body, calling to him, soothing him even as they lit him on fire. “The possibilities are infinite, Stiles. You can move mountains. Call down the stars. You can do _anything at all_ , and you don’t even see the power you have.”

Stiles swallowed hard, his hands lifting from the mattress to press into the small of Peter’s back, to hold him closer still, because he could never seem to have Peter close enough.

“But you are too focused on the immediate. I will take away a small, tiny, _infinitesimal_ problem for you.” There was no ‘let me do this,’ or ‘Stiles, please listen and…’ No. There was only ‘I will,’ and ‘I already have so you might as well accept it and move on.’

“People will think it, though.” His argumentative tone was subdued, but the obstinacy remained. “Anyone who knows, or who finds out, that’s exactly what they’ll think.”

“And what will you tell them, Stiles?”

“Th-that it’s not true.” His hands slid up either side of Peter’s spine, feeling at the smooth skin, the taut muscles. “That it would be _illegal_ for us to do anything of that nature.” He lifted a single eyebrow and Peter obligingly snapped his teeth just in front of Stiles’ face.

“And wouldn’t that just be a terrible crime?”

The way he said it, though, ensured that it wouldn’t be a terrible crime at all, and that, in fact, Stiles was going to enjoy every single second of said crime.

As Peter’s mouth continued its journey down towards his face, tilting at the last moment to press warm lips and moist tongue against the skin of Stiles’ throat, he let himself admit that - okay, while it wasn’t the greatest thing to feel so indebted to Peter Hale, Master Manipulator and Angry Alpha Extraordinaire - there were worse things than having all of his debt paid off in one fell swoop. Much worse things. And as Peter’s teeth grazed the surface of his skin just enough to sting, and as his hands began a brand new exploration of Stiles’ body, though he was certain nothing had changed since the thorough examination he had undergone the previous night, he closed his eyes and gave into the sensations that swiftly began to course through him. He surrendered to that heat building in his gut and spreading out through his fingertips.

Because there really _were_ worse things than being Peter Hale’s boyfriend.

In fact, if he were being honest, he would say that being Peter Hale’s boyfriend wasn’t bad at all.

A low groan tumbled past his lips as he arched up into the palms moving over his abdomen.

No. Not bad at all.


End file.
